50

I'm going to pop out of the narrative for moment to thank everyone who has travelled with me Beyond the Wall. This really all started when I discovered the OD&D revolution. The world Beyond the Wall has let me reconnect with old friends, introduce my kids to something that was special to me growing up, reflex some tired old drawing muscles and create a world somewhere just beyond the horizon. How many things let you do that?
Work, house moves and sports schedules have kept me away too long, so hopefully here in the next few weeks, you'll see new adventures from Gildrid, Gruffydd, Gustav, Laramine, Miss Adventure, Nemon and their new friend, Morey.
Until then, thanks for following along.

Decisions, decisions

The undead thing spoke in voice like steel scraping on stone, "Who dares disturb my tomb?".
"Saint Unther himself," Gustav spoke in a whisper, then shouted, "Back to sleep you wretched thing!"
The cleric's hand glowed briefly with righteous fury, then dwindled.
The saint gurgled what must have been a laugh. "You have no power here, young one..."
The creature moved with lightning speed. His rusty longsword bit deep into Gustav's shoulder. The rest of the party sprung to attack, but it was then that four unseen skeletons joined the fray, appearing from the shadows.
Gruffydd's hammer snapped the rusty blade. Laramine's mace destroyed one of the unholy man's shoulders. But, he still kept fighting.
Miss Adventure, Nemon and Gildrid faced the new attackers. It was an unelegant brawl in a dark, tight spot. Almost all the party was hurt in some small way. Saint Unther was still cackling with glee, flailing at the party with dislocated limbs, and biting teeth. It was Nemon who reached in and snagged the the gold dagger that was lodged in the creature's chest. Immediately, the red glow of his eyes disappeared with what seemed like relief. The saint's ravaged skeleton dropped to the floor.
A sealed closet was found containing a few coins and gems, and dusty scrolls. The body of the saint was left where he lay, despite the protests of Gustav.
A short while later the party emerged from a door they had previously passed up, and made their way to the stairs where they had encountered the giant weasel. Should they return to the surface? Should they make their way through the strange opening before them, and down the dark stairs?

Saintly things

Three of the four skeletons cringed and fell back from the cleric. The fourth rushed forward with a ancient bronze spear. Gruffydd crushed its ribcage with his hammer, then did the same to the skull. Gustav forced the other undead back into alcoves, where they been waiting and guarding for untold years. Cowering in their holes, the ret of the party made quick work of them.

The tomb had a solitary sarcophagus in the center. The tomb was richly carved with reliefs similiar to the frescoes in the hallway. The lid was carved in the shape of the saint himself. Asleep in stone. Nemon and Laramine slowly removed the lid.

Inside, a skeleton in a plain gown rested. When it didn't move, Laramine and Nemon began feeling around the corpse, searching for treasure. Nothing.

All this time, the rest of party waited, ready for something terrible to happen. A trap. A screeching skeleton. But, nothing happened.

Gruffydd was first to notice a small doorway to the west. It was plain and stone. A closer look showed it was sealed in wax. Miss adventure produced a dagger and carefully dug the wax out. A qucik check to see if it was trapped, and with the help of Gruffydd, the door opened.

Cobwebs obscured their view. The Men had to crouch to get inside. A single torch was lit to burn away the webs and thrown into the room to give light for the members of the party without night vision.

Against the far wall a single figure stood, then stirred. Dressed in a dark, filthy rag of robe, a lone rotten corpse moved to seperate itself from the cobwebs and the shadows. It carried a long rusting sword. It's eyes glowed red with what seemd to be mailce. In the light of the torch, a golden dagger gleamed, protruding from the creature's chest.

Dead Things

The hobgoblin gave a croaking belch that passed as challenge, then quickly closed the distance between himself and the party. Behind him, the cowardly goblin finally got some guts and charged in after him. An arrow from Gildrid bounced off the hobgoblin's breastplate. The fighters and the dwarf went toe-to-toe with the large goblinoid, as Miss Adventure and Gustav attacked the goblin from the sides.
The hobgoblin ignored axe and sword blows, while delivering slashes with his long halberd. A strike from Laramine's glowing mace, finally brought the brute down, but not before he had injured most of the fighters. The little goblin's demise had been much swifter.
Finally left to survey the room, they found found it mostly empty, except for crude piles of rage and sticks that served as the goblin's sleeping mats. A few silver coins were crammed in the refuse. Gildrid kicked over a bucket only to find it full of stinking offal.
"Ugh!, goblin piss." he winced.
With no seeming threat approaching, the party agreed to go down the corridor the hobgoblin had emerged from. The corridor cut back on itself like a horseshoe and opened to large room that must have served as a barracks or eating hall. Crude stools and tables were scattered about. A corner had burn marks and the remnants of small fire. Some unidentifiable creature was a blackened husk on a spit above it. Miss Adventure sniffed at it, then made a face in disgust.
A single door was ajar in the northwest corner. Crowded about it, the group listened. Nothing.
The door led to a darkened hall, leading north. The hall ended in spartan room. There was a rugged, neatly made bed, a sturdy table with chair, and an iron bound box beneath the table. The far wall had a crescent moon drawn in charcoal. Miss Adventure climbed under the table to pick the lock, but noticed a key nailed to the underside of the table. The box was full of silver pieces of different makes and sizes.
Meanwhile, Gruffydd had examined the walls, looking for hidden doors. Again, nothing. Dividing up the contents of the heavy box, they group moved to the hallway Miss Adventure explored earlier.
When they turned left and headed towards the open door, where they could hear noises. It sounded like a high pitched cackle that could be laughter. Torches were hidden, and those with low light vision moved to peer in the room beyond. Two goblins in heavy leather armor were running away from, ...no playing with a huge weasel!
A collective shudder went the the party as they remembered what happened to Dimzad, at the claws of a giant weasel. The goblin's rough-housing must have kept then from hearing the earlier scuffles.
Yelling, half the party charged in, while the other half loosed arrows at the weasel.
Despite their heavy armor, the goblins were defeated quickly, downed my a hail of blows from the Men and the Dwarf. Pin-cuchioned by arrows, the weasel whimpered off into a corner and collapsed.
The room must have been used to house the weasel, either as a guardian, as the kobolds from previous adventures had done, or some other nefarious use. There was a large bucket of foul smelling water, and a pile of dung filled with undigested bones pushed into one corner. More importantly, there was spiral stair, winding down into the dark, and a south facing door, covered in the painted skulls Miss Adventure had spied earlier on another door. Besides the skulls, there were words in crude script.
The party tried to decipher it.
"It says dead things,"Gildrid spoke. The party turned to look at him. He shrugged. "It's hobgoblin. It says dead things."
The boards were pried off, and weapons were readied. Gruffydd pushed Gustav to the front. "Here's your chance to earn yer money, boy".
When the door was wedged open, stale air crept out. Cobwebs covered faded frescoes painted on the walls. Gustav scraped a few away. The pictures showed the life of some forgotten saint. The holy man was portrayed performing miracles; guiding lost ships to shore, fighting dragons and other horrors. The final fresco showed the saint being held down by guards while an important looking nobleman plunged a golden dagger into the saint's chest.
While Gustav studied the pictures, he failed to hear the soft shuffling and low moans eminating from the dark tunnel. The skeletons were almost on him when Gruffydd gave a loud warning. Gustav turned and shouted" Back ye soulless beasts! Back to the abyss that spawned you!"

A Quick Tour

To his credit, the stunty hobgoblin stood his ground. He put up a good fight, inflicting some damage before the final blow, delivered by Gustav's massive flail.

While this little melee was underway, Miss Adventure had been calmly donning her "Speedy Boots" as she called them. In a "whoosh" of wind she off.

The screeching goblin had disappeared down a corridor to the south. She decided to scout down a matching corridor to the east. Within a few strides she saw crude tunnel dug into the south side of the hall. She zipped down it. It looked to have been carved by some great burrower. The tunnel was tight, and undulated up and down, side to side in a somewhat southwesternly course. She ran for just a moment before tearing to a halt. Blocking the tunnel was a massive rat, nearly her size. With a yelp, she ran back to eastern corridor.

Miss Adventure ran further east. The tunnel ended in a hallway to the north, and a barred door to the south. The way north had a closed door. The door behind her was nailed shut with boards, and covered in crudely painted skulls. She zipped back to the others.

In the few minutes the little halfling's recon took, the others had checked the body of the dead hobgoblin. The body yielded a few coins, and a strange blue half moon tattoo.

The party had just decided to head down the way the goblin had run when a large figure entered from that very corridor.

Before them this time, stood a full sized Hobgoblin.

Up and Down

"Up!" Miss Adventure yelled,"Up! I want up!"

Those above yanked on the rope, hauling her up. The goblin below hissed, and then disappeared. Moments later, yelling and screeching could be heard in the depths.

Miss Adventure appeared from the well, huffing, "Goblins...goblins down there."

"Yes, we heard," Gildrid said frowning.

As the party discussed what to do, smoke started slowly coming from the hole. The goblins were building a fire in the well, now turned chimney.

"There's got to be another entrance," Nemon said. "This can't be the only way in". He peered over the side of the cliff and shivered.

"We don't have time for this," Gruffydd spoke as he began tying a new rope around his waist. It'll be dark soon, and this smoke will act as signal to ever creepy-crawly within sight of this place."

Laramine tied a rope around hid waist also. "Two at a time I think".

Squashed together in the tight space, and coughing and gagging on smoke, the dwarf and the man dropped quickly down the well. They had to untie themselves and dropped the last few yards into the fire itself, which was still small at this point.

Standing in front of them, clutching a bundle of twigs was a goblin in armor that looked too big for him. Even though the helmet was of obvious orc design and obscured his face, the look of shock was unmistakable. He dropped the wood and ran back into the darkness. Laramine and Gruffydd stalked into the room behind him as two other party members above began their own journey down.

The room was large and square with a high ceiling. The whole place was of mortared stone. Forming up in the middle of the room in almost military fashion were three goblins.

A few moments passed as Laramine and Gruffydd looked at each other. Neither had seen any kind or discipline in goblins before. Behind the "soldiers", a slightly larger, fatter goblin was barking orders. The three then lowered their weapons and charged.

Gruffydd and Laramine charged themselves. Before contact was made the lead goblin fell with arrow through the visor. Gildrid had made it down. After dropping the goblin, he began stomping out the fire.

Gruffydd smashed a goblin flat with his hammer. Laramine missed with his magic mace, and the green skin he faced almost connected with the spear he wielded. It spun around to face the sea-raider, unaware Nemon was behind him. "Clang!" The goblin fell under the mercenary's blade.

Attention turned to the fat one. He was conversing with the wood-gathering goblin. The little one ran off down a corridor shouting at the top of his lungs. The fat one stood his ground.

His armor was in better shape than the rest. It looked like it was made for him and not scavenged. His skin was orange, not the greenish yellow of a goblin. He hefted a meaty sword and waited for the party to come to him.

Not a goblin. A Hobgoblin.

Down in a Hole...

Two days of hard riding left them at camp by the river at night. It was cold, but a fire would attract the wrong sorts. Odess, the moon, hid behind the clouds, and it was on Gustav's watch that something moved in the dark.

There was a splashing in the river. He could only see a dark shape, set against the dark of the river. It was large. This close to the bridge, it could be Ol' Nik, come collect his toll.

Gustav woke the others as quietly as he could, but by the time they were roused, whatever it was, was gone.

Trekking east along the southern bank of the river that morning, they found the ford. The hornet creatures were already up, busy doing whatever they did. The group crossed without incident, but this time, bows were trained on the far bank whenever someone crossed. They couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Across the river, they built a small fire, enough to dry a bit, and look at the newly acquired map. The "circle" was to the northeast. Uncharted territory. Hills were the common feature here. Lots of places to hide, and ambush. They moved a little slower than usual, constantly on the lookout for danger.

The hills grew steeper, and steeper, and more broken. Finally at the top of a bluff they found what they sought. It was a very unassuming spot, for a place of legend and fear. A circle of mortared stones, 3 feet high sat like a strange well, out in the middle of nowhere. Spikes, grapples and irons were rusting away in a circle all around. Many, it seems, had climbed into the well.

About twenty yards from the hole, the bluff abruptly ended. Far, far below the river made its way through the hills. A fall from here was surely fatal.

There was much debate on who should go first. The hole itself was tight for the Men of the group. All eyes finally ended up on Miss Adventure. She threw down the stale loaf of bread she had been chewing on, with an "All right."

A new iron spike was set, and a new rope lowered into the depths, with diminutive halfling attached. She went down, and down, until almost the entire fifty feet of rope was used. It was then Miss Adventure was able to see in the dark, the top most stair of winding spiral staircase. It was just in reach. Her toe could almost make touch it...

"It's okay!" she shouted, "I found some stairs!"

Those up above winched as her shout echoed up the well, and surely everywhere else in the depths.

Miss Adventure heard a hiss, then squeal below her. At the very bottom of the steps was a hole. A small creature held an arm up to protect itself from the few rays of sun filtering down. Beedy red eyes glared at the halfling. A goblin!

Into the Beyond Once More

The night before their departure, the adventurers gathered at the Hole to pour over their new map and gather intelligence. Most wanted to make for the strange circle on map, hoping it was the rumored Well of Souls. They were also fairly sure the "X" was not treasure, but the location of the infamous Bandit King. Gustav was obsessed with finding Lake Merr, but the others voted him down.
It was bitterly cold outside. No snow, but one of those nights where the air burns your skin it's so chilly. So it was no wonder many were packed in the warm, loud tavern. Bits of conversations could be heard.
"...they say the Underguard caught 5 gobbos in basement below warehouse district. Heard the little buggers put up quite a fight..."
"...torches, right out on the Old Trade Road in front of the gates. Whenever the Watch go to investigate, they're gone...."
Tancred, the aging veteran barkeep brought the party ale himself. This was odd, as he hardly ever left the sanctity of his bar. As he handed the group their refreshments, he spoke low and to no one in particular, "You folks watch yerselves out there tomorrah. Strangers been askin' bout cha. I was tight lipped bout yer comings and goins', but not everybody else has."
The party shot glances around the room to catch some one giving them a look, but no one seemed suspicious.
The next morning, the party gathered outside the gate. The cold kept most inside, but a few well-wishers and gawkers showed to see them off. The guards were making their usual side bets on who would return from the group. Gates opened, they were on their way.
The wind across the rolling hills was brutal. When they reached the small valley that held Newly's tree they stopped. It was a break from the cold, but a chance to gather information, if the dryad so chose.
"Newly!," Miss Adventure shouted.
A slumped, gray, shriveled old woman appeared. Her skin was the same shade as the great oak. Twigs and dead leaves were trapped in the tangled mess that was her white hair. Her eyes were a pupil-less black.

"Eh? Who's there?, she asked.
"It's us, Newly. Your friends," was Miss Adventure's answer. The dryad just stared.
After a long, uncomfortable pause she spoke. "Who's this one then?" Her arm, looking like an old tree branch, pointed at Gustav. The young cleric simply grunted and gave her a disdainful glare.
Newly spoke again, "I see much blood about this one. Much darkness, and much potential."
Each of the group gave Gustav a look. Newly had never been one for prophecy before. It was odd statement.
"Newly," Gruffydd began, "do you have any news for us? Has any one been by here? Men with torches?"
The old dryad started walking back to her tree. "The comings and goings of Men are no concern to me." With that she disappeared.
"A girl in the Spring," Laramine said. "An old hag in the Winter?"
"We really need to show up about Summer," Gruffydd laughed.

A New Adventure, a New Friend

Barely a week had past since our intrepid party had returned from the ruins of the lost village, when they decided it was time for another shot at fame and fortune. They had not recovered much loot, and finances were running low. It was decided that adding a cleric to their ranks might increase their chances of survival. A holy man could heal their wounds and maybe their luck. It was only a few days after nailing a posting to tree outside the Hole, that a cleric appeared. He was young, but full of vigor, and scrapping for a fight. The Lost lands Beyond the Wall were in need of some Religion, and Gustav was the boy, err man to do it.

Gustav had survived a great cataclysm, he said, but was tight lipped about which one. His god was great and powerful, but a again vague, about who they were. He carried a great two handed flail. With this he would vanquish the impure, and spread the Word.

The Way Back

After emerging from the kobold caves, the party found their horses gone. They had wandered off, or had been taken. No one knew which, they just knew it would be a long walk home. They were packing their things, preparing for said walk, when a mounted figure appeared on the road from the south.
It was Gruffydd. "Can't go that way," he said. "Nasty troll guarding the bridge."
"I think we can figure our way back to the ford," Laramine spoke up, hefting the magical mace. It was decided he was best suited for it's wielding. "It can't be that hard. Find the river, and follow it east."
Indeed, the river was easy enough to find, but it was nightfall before they reached it. It was to be a cold camp. No fire tonight.
As the temperature dropped, so did spirits. It had been a dangerous trek, with little to show but a dead comrade, and a few bits of treasure. During Miss Adventure's watch, lights appeared in the west. There were at least a dozen. Maybe torches, moving fast south towards the bridge, which was barely in sight around the river's bend.
The halfling woke the rest of the party quietly, and pointed at the torches. There were mounted figures on the bridge. They stopped for a few moments, then headed south along the road toward Wall. The party watched silently. No one would sleep the rest of the night.
With little rest and a few mouthfuls of stale food, the group headed for the ford at sunrise. They heard the low hum of the hornet-men before they saw the ruined tower. A few of the creatures were flitting across the top of river, snatching fish up as they went and returning to their hive. When they reached the tower, the hornet men seemed to ignore the party, going about whatever it was they did.

Gildrid splahed into the river, "I'll go first."
"At least..."Gruffydd started, but the elf was out of earshot,"...take a rope"
 Gruffydd follwed into the river and was behind him a ways, when the group spotted the riders. Gildrid was on the far bank, emptying his boots of water when three Men on horseback emerged from the trees lining the river. All were clad in leather mail and wore black hoods. Gildrid had his back to them, and one rider was raising a crossbow.
Gruffydd tried to shout a warning along with the rest of the party as they all started splashing across at once. The water was too loud. Gildrid saw their waving arms, and waved back, oblivious to the danger.
The rider loosed his bolt. It missed, but hit the elf's cloak, pinning it to the ground. Gildrid spun around in time to see a battle ax slam into his head as a rider flew by.
He circled his horse, ready to finish the stunned elf, when Gruffydd buried  his own crossbow bolt into the rider. Another rode out to face Gruffydd while the one with crossbow reloaded. The injured rider took another swing at Gildrid and dropped him.
Nemon's thrown dagger caught the crossbow wielding rider in the neck. The hooded man fell from his saddle. Gruffydd crushed the leg of his own foe with a swing of his hammer. He too, fell from the saddle. Another blow from the dwarf, and rider was still.
As the rest of party came up the bank, the wounded rides departed in haste. He disappeared into the woods. Immediately, Laramine grabbed a spare horse and donning one of hoods snatched from one the bodies rode after in pursuit.
They party took stock of the situation. Gildrid was down, unmoving. There was a great gash beneath his crushed helmet. His breath was shallow. "Great, he;s dead again," Miss Adventure said as she plopped down beside him. She forced open Gildrid's mouth and began pouring healing draughts offered up by the group.
Gruffydd and Nemon examined the bodies of the riders. Their hoods were black sack cloth, similar to those put over the heads of men bound for the gallows. Holes had been roughly cut out to see, and indeed, a hangman's noose held their hoods on. The men themselves were skinny, bordering on malnutrition. Their leather armor and weapons were plain, well used, but in good condition. The party found a few coins, but more importantly, found a map.
It showed they immediate area to north of Wall. Few maps existed of the Fallen Lands. This one seemed to made by hand on rough lambskin, probably by the hand of one of the dead men. A strange circle was marked on an area close to their location, but it was judged best to head for Wall and investigate later.
As the party readied themselves again, and rounded up their new mounts, Laramine appeared.
"He was too fast. Besides, I'm a mariner, not horseman."
The rest of journey to Wall was cold and uneventful, but the party kept a watch over their shoulders the whole way.

Mopping up

The whole mob of kobolds surged forward, their king at the lead. The glow of his mace reflected against the cold stone of the throne room. The party waited for them. Small spears clattered past them, hurled by the kobold pack. Gildrid was too weak to draw his bow, and he was out of arrows anyway. Nemon began throwing daggers at the front rank of kobolds. They weren't really throwing daggers, but kobold short swords he had plundered from the dead earlier. Several of the tiny, angry creatures fell to the daggers. But the rest came on.
Laramine swung at the king. It went wide and missed. The kobold king's mace cracked into Laramine's side, sending him flying across the floor. The veteran sea raider was soon swarmed by barking kobolds.
Nemon flailed at his attackers, sending a kobold flying with each swing. Miss Adventure, glad to be finally fighting someone her size, dived into the fray with reckless abandon.
Laramine pulled free of his assailants to face the kobold king. He took the mace with his great sword. The metal of his blade hissed and sparked. Though the little king was half his size, the kobold's strength seemed doubled. A kick put the king a few paces back, then a swing sent his head in a great bloody arc across the hall.
The few remaining kobolds broke off and ran for a dark corridor to the right of the throne. Bruised and bloody, four adventurers looted the dead, finding a few coppers. The mace had stopped glowing once the king died. Laramine picked it up, but it remained dark.
"Lemme see that", Nemon said taking the mace. He tapped it on the ground and the blue flames ignited once again.
Using the light of the mace, they found another door to the left of the throne. It seemed more ornate around the entrance. A short hall led to a door, this one sturdier than any they had seen so far. It was locked.
"Ungh!" Nemon smashed the mace into the door. It blew apart and in. The room beyond was decorated with items looted from the above world. Everyday things were given special places of honor. An old butter churn sat upon a corner alter. Tools and farm equipment sat on rotting satin pillows, while books were used to prop up corners of a tattered, man sized bed. As much as could be grabbed, was. Nemon and Laramine threw anything of value in their oversized bags, while Gildrid collapsed on the bed. Miss Adventure made another discovery. Behind a moth eaten curtain she found a closet. It was packed with boxes and shelves, and guarding it was a hissing Kobold youth. It was obviously frightened. It's little hands held a dagger at the halfling, but those same hands were trembling.
"Hey fellas," she said" what do I do with this guy?"
Nemon marched over and bashed it's head in with the mace. Miss Adventure stared at the gore that spattered on her, in disgust.
The closet yielded little gold, and a few trinkets. Gildrid lay on the bed groaning and close to unconsciousness. "All right," Laramine spoke, "we gotta try something."
He grabbed the jar full of white paste they found earlier. "Here goes nothing", and began spreading on Gildrid's spider bite. The elf howled in pain. Whatever kobolds left in the complex, were now probably doubly scared.
To everyone's amazement, the salve seemed to work. The black and blue scar ceased its crawl across Gildrid's neck and face. He perked up immediately but was still weak.
"Okay", Nemon said, lets get out of here."
There was no way out of the room other than the way they came. They decided to follow the kobold's lead and head out the hall to the right of the throne. It lead to a tunnel up. Apparently this was the escape hatch. Struggling up the almost vertical earthen tunnel they emerged into the world above.
The sun was going down, and the party was unsure how large the kobold tunnels below stretched or how many might come to the aid of their brethren.
"Beaten and bruised, with one dead," Laramine said, "and nothing to show but a few lousy coppers and a glowing mace. Great. Let's find the horses."

"I want one of Those!'

The beetle moved ever forward. The heat from the flames was on them. Nemon and Laramine brought their shields up to block the entrance to the small room. Gildrid was weak, but still able to loose a few arrows at the fire beetle by propping himself up against a shelf. The arrows clattered harmlessly against the beetle's tough armor.
Stil the beetle move ever towards them. The party could hear the yelps and taunts coming from the kobolds marching behind. The men's shields began to smoke and sizzle. Miss Adventure had enough. She began throwing anything she could find inside the pantry at the beetle. Jars of strange liquids and fermented staples shattered against the fiery insect. A jar full of yellow, foul smelling goo hit it square in the face. It stopped, shaking its head. The kobolds were prodding it from behind with spears.
Then, Miss Adventure hurled a mason jar of blue paste. BOOM! The shockwave knocked all four of the party down. The hall was full of stunned and dead kobolds, and a very charred, smoking beetle.
Laramine and Nemon charged forward stabbing the living kobolds that were too stunned to fight back.
Singed and a bit wobbly from the explosion, they headed down the hallway where the beetle had come from, ladened with whatever they could carry from the kobold "pantry".
The corridor ended in an open door. The doorway opened into a large hall. Furs and sleeping mats covered the floor around the edges, against the walls. There was a raised platform. On it sat a throne, and on it a large kobold. Well, large for a kobold. Standing, he probably didn't reach Laramine's belt.
Behind the kobold king, a dozen warriors stood, ready to attack. They hissed and barked, gripping their weapons, shooting glances at their sovereign, waiting for the order to charge the interlopers. The king stood raising a great mace. He tapped it on the floor and the mace's head exploded into blue flame.
All four party members uttered the same words at the same time.
"I want one of those."

Bugs and Burns

The head cook died first, an arrow from Gildrid between her eyes. She dropped silently, falling forward into her great cauldron. The other kobolds didn't seem to notice right away. The party, now down to four crept into the immense kitchen. There was a crash. Frightened, a kobold carrying a tall stack of plates had spotted the party and dropped the stack in a panic. Alarm spread through the steaming kitchen. Barks and hisses of alarm mixed with dying screams as the party began hacking their way through a flood of tiny attackers. None were spared, even the kobold youths. Laramine booted one across the room when it came at him with a huge cleaver in it's tiny hands.
One kobold, however, managed to escape the carnage and ran through a doorway in the back of the kitchen. It's howling alarm echoed down the hallway. The party, covered in black Kobold blood, collected themselves, and followed.
A short hallway led to a large hall. The ceiling was high for the diminutive koblods, but normal height for a Man. From all the tables scattered around, it seemed to be a mess hall. They just caught a glimpse of the creature they were pursuing, as it disappeared down a hallway on the other side. Close to them, another hallway with low ceiling.
"That way!" Laramine said. Crouching, the Northman entered the corridor. It split into two rounded hallways, much like a tuning fork. He headed down the right. His torch illuminated a small room. It stank. The walls on three sides had low benches built into them, with holes in the seats. "Uh, a latrine."
Sure enough, at the far end, sitting alone and trying very hard not to be noticed, a male kobold sat, with his crude trousers around his ankles. It squealed as Laramine charged forward. He spitted it at the end of his great sword.
The others found a similar latrine down the other corridor, this one without an inhabitant.
The party then decided to head for the other hallway at the far end of the mess hall. It was paved with flagstones, as much of the other corridors were, with packed earthen walls. The hallway split into a "T". Yelling, and the sounds of many kobolds echoed down from the right hall. The adventurers moved the other way.
They found a small door. This one was reinforced and locked. Nemon and Laramine tried their best to bash it down, but the space was tight, and they couldn't get leverage.
"Outta my way," Miss Adventure said, shouldering her way past the men. She began fidgeting with the lock. A few moments later, a "click" came from the lock, and the door opened.
"Miss Adventure," said Nemon," why don't you put on those boots of yours and wait at the crossroads back there. If anything comes, let us know."
With that, the halfling was gone. The others took stock of the room. It was high roofed and cylindrical. Shelves packed the curved walls. The shelves were full of boxes, jars, containers and urns. "Must be some kind of kobold pantry," Laramine said to Gildrid. It was then he noticed the elf was pale. Paler than usual. The wound the spider had given Gildrid was purple again, and spreading.
"Hey Nemon, he doesn't look so good."
Some of the containers lining the shelves looked man made. Some were of kobold manufacture. There were dried herbs and food, and some things that were unidentifiable and smelled awful. Laramine and Nemon began rifling through all of them, looking for a hidden door, or a cure for their friend. Gildrid just crumbled up into a ball and drooled on himself. One of the jars crashed to the floor. It was the near comatose Gildrid that noticed the green liquid that had spilt was draining through the floor somewhere. Nemon started prying them up with his dagger. He found a small, square hole. In it was two jars. One contained a whitish paste. The other had dried mushrooms. They gave off the faint blueish light the party recognized as the fungus, that once refined, could be used as a healing potion. Nemon and Laramine contemplated given the raw mushrooms to Gildrid, but they could be poisonous in their non-refined state.
There was a rush of air.
"Here they come!" said a breathless Miss Adventure. Down the corridor they could see a bright light. Strange, for a race that lived in the dark. The light grew brighter, until they could distinguish a large shape filling most of the hallway. It was the source of the light. And the heat.
A giant beetle trudged through the tight corridor, fire squirting from it's open maw.

What's cooking?

At first, there was stunned silence. Miss Adventure was the first to charge ahead. She dove under the closest weasel and began stabbing upward, soon up to her elbows in blood. Laramine swung at the other beast with his great sword, cleaving its head nearly in two. Gildrid was pelting them with arrows, and Nemon threw daggers.
Only Gruffydd stood, unmoving.
All the adventurer's rage at the loss of Dimzad was taken out on the giant weasels. The creatures were dead before they ever struck back. Miss adventure crawled out from under one, just before the beast collapsed.
It was time to take stock of the room. There was an almost identical door at the opposite side from where they came in. A large pile of weasel dung was piled in one part of the round, domed earth room. Amid the pile was undigested bones of large humanoids. There were two large copper bowls, full of water, and writing in a strange tongue on them.
Gruffydd began hacking away at the chest of the one who ate Dimzad. He cracked open the ribcage and dug the top half of Dimazd out. The others watched in muted disgust. Gruffydd was caked in gore by the time he was done with his grizzly task. He loaded what there was into a huge sack, kept for treasure and began to head toward the door they came through.
"Where are you going?" asked Gildrid.
"He was the last of his clan. He deserves a proper burial." And with that Gruffydd was gone.
Nemon spoke, "All right then, time to see what's behind that door."
A loud racket came from the other side. Nemon slowly creaked open the unlocked door.
Through the crack he spied a large Kitchen, full of large pots boiling over, and pots and pans of all description. A giant oven covered one wall. A horrible stench eminated from the roasting, boiling and baking food. It reminded Nemon of one of the layers of hell described in his grandfather's library.
All the noise must have covered the party's battle with the weasels. Above the racket was the squealing barks and hisses made by the cooks and their helpers. There was a small army of kobolds slaving away. One, a largish female by the strange, out of place dress she wore, seemed to be in charge. She wielded a huge frying pan she whacked other kobolds with occasionally, to reinforce her orders.

Pets

Fire burned through Gildrid's veins. Pain, ...such pain. He dropped his shield and the spider with it. Laramine sprang forward and cleaved the spider in two. He quickly pulled out a vial containing the Tears of Verena to administer to the now collapsed elf. Black and blue veins of poison spread from the bite mark like a web. Laramine pressed the healing potion to Gildrid's lips and forced a drink down. The elf came to consciousness.
The spread of poison stopped, but had not been cured. Gildrid felt terrible. His muscles burned, and his vision blurred. Laramine helped him out into the sunlight and the square beyond. It was then, that Nemon finally won his battle with the temple door. With a great crash, it caved in, Nemon stumbling behind.
The others now swarmed inside. The temple was a round, domed, stone structure, sparse in it's decor. There was a raised dias at the far end with a stone altar, and a statue behind of a stern looking, robed man. The dome above was cracked, and let a few rays of sunshine in. There were long wooden benches, jumbled all around. Several were stacked against the now demolished door. But there was no one inside. No bodies.
Laramine, used to sacking such places in his youth, stomped up to the altar and kicked it over. As he suspected, under the stone was small hole. In it, was small bag of coins, and a large gold key. The key looked like it fit the temple doors, as there were no other portals in the temple.
Gruffydd, had meanwhile, found a loose floor tile. He kicked at it, finally getting the toe of his boot underneath and shoving it off.
There was a rush of cool air, and on it, more of the strange whispers. There was a tunnel. It went through the foundation of the temple and into the earth beyond. The passage went straight down then eased into a ninety degree turn horizontally. Everyone looked at everyone else, waiting for a volunteer.
Gruffydd let out a deep sigh, "all right, I'll go first. Dimzad, you're next."
The dwarves dropped down the tight passage, shoulders scraping at the packed earth. At the bottom, they could see the tunnel was reinforced with roughly cut timbers. It wasn't pretty, but it was well constructed. "I don't like the looks of this." Gruffydd whispered to his fellow dwarf. "Seems familiar some how."
The end of the tunnel held a small, round door. Gruffydd examined it, while the others noisily slid down the hole. Dirt and dust fill the cramped passage.
The door, like the tunnel, was crudely, but well construct. It had simple wooden latch on the outside. Loud breathing, a snuffling, sniffing, noise came from the other side. That was when Dimzad decided to jab his dagger under the door. There was a loud "Squeeeeel" and then scratching at the door. Gruffydd shot Dimzad a dark look. He looked at the others and gave a nod. "Are we ready?"
He yanked the door open and the others flew past into the room with much shouting and war cries. It was enough to startle the two giant weasels beyond. They filled most of the domed, packed earth chamber, two huge versions of an every day weasel. They hissed and showed their teeth, backs arched.
Gildrid, even in his weakened state, managed to sink a few arrows into the closest. It didn't seem to notice.
Dimzad led the charge, axe swinging, bellowing the war cry of his clan. The arrow wearing weasel hissed again, gave a great pounced, and simply bit the top half of Dimzad off.
The dwarf's legs took a few steps, blood spurting from the ruined waist, and toppled.

Side Note: Dimzad, the gods rest his soul, belonged to Lead Addict's middle son, a lad of 10 years. He took the loss of his first PC very well, better than I would have. It helped that the grownups all cheered his death, and called it heroic. 
His secret background was he was the last of his kind, or in this case, clan. So farewell to Dimzad Ab Zogenbreth, known as the "Beardless", last of his clan. He joins his faithful goat Bob, in death and glory.

Interlude: Laramine

Laramine grew, as most from his village did if you were strong, smart, and had the stomach for it, to become a sea-raider.  The rest, to weak of body or mind, just became fishermen and reed-cutters, and started families.   Laramine came from a region off a far ocean coast named the Kraken’s Teeth, a series of tall pinnacled isles known for piracy and death, where any good merchant ship captain avoided unless he was headstrong or stupid.  As sea-raiders Laramine and his kinsmen spent journeys raiding coastal villages along the main coastlines, looking for gold and goods, or the occasional attractive maiden, although the latter was usually a short-lived fray, as the sea and adventure beckoned, while the maiden’s voice too often became shrill and that of a harpy.  Laramine’s family had been small, born to a father who had also been a sea-raider, and eventually lost his life doing just so; and a mother who herself had been one of the hapless stolen maidens, taken against her will from some now unknown fishing village long decimated.  Laramine had one sibling, a brother, ‘Salamel’, three years his junior, and with a temperament considered cold and ruthless even by a raiders standards.  Some had even ventured to use the word, evil.  This ruthlessness by Salamel propelled him to become influential as a leader, and many raiders followed his lead, with raids becoming more brutal, and focused on creating chaos and killing, and less about reaping gold and spoils to live on.  While accustomed to killing and a life of raiding, Laramine became intolerant of the new breed of raiders, and journeys for fresh plunder became farther and farther away.  There was no hint of honor or purpose in the attacks carried out, it was mayhem.  On a warm day, while the winds were blowing fresh salt air across the isles, Laramine gathered his sword, armor, and what few possessions he favored, and took a small sailed fishing boat and headed for the mainland coast, putting his life of sea-raiding behind him.  He sought a new course, looking for adventure and personal glory on solid ground.  There was so much more the mainland had to offer.  For several years Laramine roamed from village to village, joining small bands of adventurers, seeking hidden and rumored treasure, but as was so often the case personalities clashed, or the rumors were just that… rumors, and as always he moved on, looking for a better fit, trusting only in himself, wary of most.  Finally in the 28^th year of his life, he happened upon a town simply called ‘Wall’, and in a small smoke filled tavern, with a one-eyed barkeep, he met an odd band of adventurers, Dwarves, a thief, an elf, a human, with backgrounds not so dissimilar to his own.  This group of personalities intrigued him, as did the untamed land beyond the wall, and the rumors of treasures and creatures unheard of.  Maybe, just maybe, Laramine had found a place he could stay a while.

Side note:  This character belongs to Scott, a.k.a. JrGMan. He was one of the first people I ever played D&D with. Many moons spent in his basement spilling monster blood with his PC, Rasputin the Massive. It's nice to have him back in the fold.

I have my PCs randomly roll for a "secret background". Laramine's was "sibling a force for evil the world".

A Beating, and a Biting

The great wolf snarled and snapped. It paced the campfire, eyes always on Dimzad. Then it leapt and knocked the dwarf to the ground. The wolf tore into Dimzad before the others could react.
With the horses in turmoil, the camp was chaos. It was Grufftdd who noticed the scar on the wolf's left eye. "Don't kill it him, subdue it!"
The order didn't keep Gildrid from drawing a silver tipped arrow."I said subdue!", Gruffydd shouted at the elf.
Gruffydd smacked the wolf in the side of the head with is hammer. It yelped and let go of Dimzad. Laramine slammed the flat of his great sword squarely on the wolf's skull. It dropped instantly.
"Quickly," Gruffydd shouted again," tie it up".
Bound and unconscious, the creature was kept by the fire and under watch all night. Dimzad had to be restrained too, in order to keep him from kicking the captive.
With the sun's rising, the wolf began to change. As Gruffydd expected, it shrunk in mass and hair, till only a filthy, naked Logun remained. He awoke with a start, "ohhhh, my head. Hey!" he looked around, frightened. He just noticed he was bound. "What's goin' on here, fellas? Some kind a joke again?"
"At what point", Nemon asked,"were you going to tell us about your little affliction?"
"Whatcher talkin' about?" Logun sputtered.
"Werewolf!", Gruffydd shouted. "You're a werewolf!"
The old trapper's eyes went from horror, to a look of resignation.
"I always kinda suspected. But I been out here alone fer so long, I also thought I might just be going crazy. You hafta believe me, when I say I didn't means ta hurt nobody."
"Kill 'em," said Dimzad. Gildrid reached for his silver tipped arrow again.
"No", Gruffudd said with a sigh, "let him go." The others began to untie Logun. "But, you're not with us anymore. You helped us find a way across the river. That's the only reason I'm letting you go."
The old man got up, rubbing his wrists. "well, I guess I thank you fer that."
"Next time we see you,...you're dead!" Gruffydd yelled, as the old man headed into the woods. Logun turned and gave the party one last look. Gruffydd could have sworn there was a smirk on the old man's face.
By noon, they reached the ruins of a large village. The size and scope of the ruins were impressive. One could tell this had once been a wealthy town. It sat astride the Old Trade Road itself, which ran directly north. The remains of a large mill were the closest, on the west side of the road. The place was strangely quiet except for the occasional creaking from ruined shutters, or the mill's water wheel, now hanging unused above a dry creek.
"I'm headed for the temple", Nemon said, gesturing at a stone building on the east side of an over grown square.
"I'm going for the mill", Gildrid said stringing his bow. Laramine followed the elf.
Then, the wind blew. Gildrid and Laramine froze, looking at each other. Just above the sound of the wind, came the hint of whispering. "did you...?" Laramine started to ask, when his words were lost under the noise of Nemon battering the temple doors down. He bashed into the sturdy wood of the doors over and over with his armored shoulder. The noise was deafening, compared to the silence of the ruins.
Gildrid approached the ruined doors of the mill. He looked through hole that had been smashed into the wood. Inside, he could see sunlight filtering from the damaged roof. There were sacks of grain and flour, long moldered and plundered by vermin, and the great grinding wheel sat askew on it's base. The most interesting thing though, was the fact boards had been nailed to the outside of the door. Rather than try to keep something out, they were trying to keep something in.
Prying at the rotted wood. Gildrid entered. Laramine followed, along with the sounds of Nemon's ongoing struggle with the temple door. The elf put away his bow and pulled out his sword, the better to poke and prod at the different sacks and boxes laying about.
On the third sack, a shape sprung from the shadows. A huge spider, the size of shield, leapt on him. Gildrid couldn't shake it, or get sword on it. The furry arachnid lunged and bit into his neck.

Another visitor to the campfire

The drone of wings was almost deafening. Logun ran up the river bank, away. Arrows, rocks, throwing daggers, were all being hurled at the strange wasp-like things. Those that hit, bounced off harmlessly.
"We seem to have upset the nest!" Nemon shouted over the noise.
"They're not making moves towards us," Gruffydd yelled," they must be guarding something in that keep."
Without further word, Miss Adventure plopped down on a rock, and started putting on her magic boots. With a whush of air, she was gone.
Inside the broken tower, the halfling discovered interior walls packed with eggs, dripping a golden goo.
"Blech!" she she said with a shiver, and dashed out to the others. "The only thing in there is some gross looking hivey thing," she said to the party.
Gruffydd, looking over his shoulder to where Logun had disappeared, shouted, "Still, it bears investigating later. Let's get out of here." Just then, one of Gildrid's arrows struck home. The wasp-man-thing fell from the sky with a squish.
"Run!" he yelled as the drone grew louder. The party mounted, and raced up the river back, and didn't stop till they reached the road again. Out of breath, they found Logun gathering wood for a fire.
"I though everyone could use a drying off", he said.
Wet clothes were placed by the fire. A quick review of their packs found some of the rations ruined by river crossing.
"Logun," Gruffydd asked, "you're a trapper. Care to find us some meat?"
With a shrug, the old man headed for the woods.
The rest of party prepared for the evening. In the hazy distance, up the road, a ruins of large village stood. It would be another days march to their destination, if in fact, this was the village they were looking for.
By nightfall, Logun had not returned. The watches were set, and one by one the group retired. "Good," Dimzad said with a huff," I hope the ol' geazers dead."
During Miss Adventures watch, a rustling was heard in the nearby woods. She had been happily munching away on what remained of her rations, when she spied a dark shape at the edge of the trees. This shape exploded from the under brush, autumn leaves flying everywhere. With a heavy thump, a mass of teeth, claws and fur dropped into their campsite. The biggest wolf she had ever seen...

The Swarm

Everyone awoke, weapons drawn.
"Easy now, ...easy," the stranger said. "The names Logun. I'm just a simple trapper, alone in these cold woods, attracted by the warmth of your fire."
Gruffydd stepped forward, to eye the shaggy man more carefully. "Well, Logun, is it? What's someone like yourself, doing out here alone, Beyond the Wall?"
"Ask myself that every day," he said with a cackle, showing his crooked yellow teeth. He opened his cloak. Everyone tensed, ready to spring if he drew a weapon. But, instead, the insides of his coat were filled with old pelts, beaver, fox, squirrel, and unknown.
"Ohhhh", Dimzad spoke in awe. "How much for that one?" He pointed to a fine fox tail.
"Looking for a replacement?" Logun held up the pelt to his chin, mimicking a beard. A beard that Dimzad had been missing since his encounter with a oversized crayfish. They all laughed. Everyone but Dimzad.
"Welcome to our fire", Gruffydd said patting Logun on the back. He nodded to those around the fire. It was all right to put away weapons.
The talk quickly turned to the area around them. How much did Logun know about the area? Was there a way to avoid the bridge, and the toll there? What was the toll?
Ol' Nik?" Logun asked. "Biggest, meanest troll I ever did meet. And bat-shit crazy, ta boot. Last time I saw him, cost me every shiny penny I had, and some furs, too. But, I found a few ways around him."
"We'd make it worth your while," the Northman, Laramine put in, "if you could show us those ways."
"Well, I ain't much fer company, but the fur trade ain't what it used to be up here. Fewer and fewer animals these days. So, I guess, so."
The rest of the evening and late into the night, Logun regaled everyone with his adventures Beyond the Wall. There was laughter, and the dark mood of the previous day was lifted, if just for a little while. Slowly, the party drifted off to sleep. Dimzad had been the first to his bedroll, but he did not sleep. He waited.
He waited until everyone was asleep, except for Gruffydd, who was on watch. He snuck quietly out from under his blankets and over to Miss Adventure's pack.
"What are you doing?" Gruffydd asked from across the fire.
"Shhhh!" was the only response. Dimzad furiously dug through the halfling's bag. Finally, he spied what he wanted. The nastiest, stinkiest cheese Miss Adventure carried. On several occasions, it had been debated amongst the party, whether to use it as a weapon against monsters. Now, Dimzad had another use. He carefully placed it in Logun's outstretched hand. Then, with just as much care, he plucked an arrow from Gildrid's quarrel, and began slowly tickling Logun's nose.
The old trapper sniffled and snuffed, almost sneezed, then brought up his cheese filled hand to swat away the imaginary pest.
The cheese exploded in Logun's face. "What in the Seven Bowels of Hell?!" He was angry.
The party, once again awoke with a start, weapons drawn. Dimzad couldn't contain himself. He howled in laughter. It was infectious. Soon everyone, including Logun was laughing. "You got me there, shorty", he said.
The next morning was bright, but still cold and wet. Logun led them cross-country, pointing out this and that. Where he had escape a rampaging Bullette, or dodged a Hobgoblin patrol. Soon, they reached the river. At one time, there had been a ferry. The ruins of a well built imperial mile fort straddled both sides of  the quickly flowing river. All the rain lately had swollen it's banks.
"Gildrid", Gruffydd said to the elf,"you have the best eyes. What's on the other side? I don't want to get halfway across and get ambushed."
"Only a flock of birds, They seem to have roosted in the tower," Gildrid replied.
With that, they secured a rope to each other, and to a sturdy stone post, and crossed the river. To everyone's surprise, they made it across without incident.
But, as they untied and checked equipment, Miss Adventure noticed something strange about the "birds".
She yelled to the others, who followed her pointing finger to a fastly approaching creature. It had the body of an enormous wasp. Four limbs ended in clawed hands, and another two in sharp looking hooks. A nasty stinger protruded from it's abdomen, and strangest of all, it had a humanoid face. But, probably worst of all, it wasn't alone. Hundreds were swarming behind it.

Of Fires and Furs

"Yes," the Dryad said. "That is my name".
"B-but, you look different..." Miss Adventure stumbled.
"Different?" Newly asked."I don't feel different". She approached the group, but stepped back when Gruffydd moved toward her.
"Newly, do you know of village near here? Perhaps up the road?", the dwarf asked pointing up the road, which disappeared in the rain.
She gave the dwarf a questioning look. "Village?"
"Where people live" Gildrid said with a little too much exasperation in his voice.
"Oh!" Newly said excitedly, perhaps understanding now. "I know what those are." But her face grew quickly dark. "They make their places to live from my dead friends...." She began to fade back into her tree.
"Wait!" Gruffydd tried to say as calmly as possible. "We need to know where it is."
"It is, as you said, up the road. Across the river. Be careful. The trees say something up there poisons their roots."
Before she vanished completely, Miss Adventure asked one last question, "Newly, have more people come around here since we visited last?"
"Always. Always someone or something searching... for you...." Then the dryad was gone.
Then, they too, were gone, up the road.
Just before dusk they picked a campsite on one of the rolling hills that covered the landscape. It was decided not to have a fire. First, in this landscape, a fire could be spotted for miles around. It would act like a beacon for any wishing them ill. Second, the rain was still coming down. A lack of any woods nearby, combined with the wet, would have prevented a fire anyway.
So that sat, miserable, eating what cold food they had. It was decided the two Men, Nemon and Laramine, would take the first and last watches, as their lack of night vision could be compensated for by some light at dusk and dawn.
Nemon fell asleep on his first watch. He woke to Miss Aveture beating him over the head with loaf of stale bread.
The rest of the watches came and went without incident until morning. Laramine had taken a moment to simultaneously admire the first dawn in ages without rain, and relieve himself. It was then he noticed something in the mud just outside their camp. Another older campsite they missed in the rain. There were scraps of clothes, bits of crockery, all strew about as if a struggle had happened.
Without waking the others, perhaps foolishly, he followed the trail of refuse to a small ravine. There he found a body.
It was torn and crumpled. It was a Man, at least from the size and shape. The face was gone, and body had been partially eaten by scavengers. The leather armor was ripped in half as if by huge claws. In a bag beside the body Laramine found a few coins and a black hood. He ran back to the others and showed them his discovery.
"Great." was all Gruffydd said.
Another days march, slowed by the mud. The little talk on the road revolved around the body, and the oddities of dryad life cycles. Another camp, but this time the landscape had changed, and there were woods. Which meant a fire.
Nemon fell asleep on watch again.
Miss Adventure woke again with a start. Nightmares again. She saw Nemon asleep and prepared to pummel him once more. Then, she saw a huge pile of fur parked by the fire. Before she could scream, the furs moved, turned to her a said" Hello."